The Cubicle Ch. 07

I didn't really sleep much that night. Mostly, I tossed and turned, my naked, sweaty, smelly body clinging to the sheet under me, the covers in a heap on the floor.

As the night progressed, embarrassment for my state of mind and behavior grew to the point that I could feel waves of red hot color fill my face. I felt ridiculous and perverse. I began to crave a shower and real clothing like never before. Panic began to set in too, as I wondered how I would find some clothes -- I needed them desperately if I was to be able to be seen in public, which, of course, I needed to do since I was out of food, too.

At about 4:30 a.m., I gave up trying to sleep. A subdued thunderstorm was lazily passing through, so I walked out onto the porch with a glass of water to sit down and watch it. There were distant flashes of lightning with low rumblings rolling over head. Gradually the lightning subsided, and a steady rain fell.

I must've drifted off to slept finally, because the next time I opened my eyes, the first hint of daybreak was in the sky. I rubbed my stiff neck, got up and stretched. Needing to pee, I walked out into the rain and squatted. I rain was cold on my skin, but it felt glorious. Finished, I stood and spread my arms and turned my face skyward, relishing the feeling of the clean water trickling down my body.

My reverie ended with another spasm of shame. I hugged myself, covering my breasts with my arms, and walked back inside. I stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, lost in thought, a small puddle forming at my feet.

I nodded to myself, found my thin, smelly spandex bra and equally thin spandex shorts, and pulled them on. In the bathroom mirror, I could see my nipples protruding. I blushed again, but turn with resolve and grabbed my car keys, hopped in the car and left.

Several miles down the road, I turned into a campground, and drove until I found the laundry and bathhouse in the middle of the looping drive that made its way around the place. It was light now, but only a few people were stirring, preferring, I'm sure, to stay sheltered from the steady rain.

I parked at the bathhouse and looked around before I got out. I could see no one through the underbrush, although the aroma of cooking bacon made me almost dizzy with hunger. I quietly got out of the car and slipped into the laundry. Inside the smell of dryer sheets competed with the bacon.

On the small counter was exactly what I'd been hoping to find: someone had left a basket of laundry, figuring to retrieve it once the rain stopped. I prayed that it was clean, and that something would fit me. I hurriedly rifled through the clothes -- they felt and smelled clean. It was an assortment of t-shirts, men's underwear, socks, and some jeans. I grabbed a purple t-shirt and dug hopefully for a pair of shorts. I was about to give up when I found a pair in the bottom of the basket. They were blue sweatpants with a drawstring that had been cut off. Perfect!

Worried about being caught with my pilfered wardrobe, I hastily folded the clothes and held them close to my chest and scurried out to the car and hid the clothes under the seat. I looked around furtively: no one. I sighed in relief, and as calmly as I could, backed back out into the narrow road, and gently drove the rest of the loop and out of the campground.

I was shaking as I pulled back onto the main road to go back to the cabin. I'd never stolen anything in my life! I felt horrible, even though it was just a t-shirt and a pair of make-do shorts. My crime, small as it was, only gave me more resolve to fix myself, and return to the decent, normal woman I was so recently -- and to erase all traces of the horrible, slutty pervert I'd become.

Back at the cabin, I grabbed the clothes, got my bag of make up and toiletries out of the trunk, and almost ran inside. I turned on the shower and got in, still wearing my bra and shorts. The warm water felt glorious. After soaking my hair, I squirted a gob of shampoo into my hair and lathered. I moaned with ecstasy as if I was having an orgasm, if felt so good. I pulled off my bra and shorts, dropping them to the shower floor, and used copious amounts of body wash. I could almost feel the smell and grime falling away.

Next, I shaved my legs, underarms, and between my legs, leaving my usual, tidy landing strip -- stepping out of the shower, I trimmed it to perfection. I toweled off and grabbed my bra and shorts, throwing them in the sink, filling it with hot water topped off with a gob of shampoo.

I let them soak while I dried my hair and put on my makeup. I drained the water and rinsed the bra and shorts, using the hair dryer to dry them. I pulled them on, and the stolen shorts overtop. Even with the drawstring, I could barely get them tight enough to stay on. But they did cover me. Next, the t-shirt -- it was way too big for me, but at least my nipples didn't show, and they hid the fact that the shorts were enormous too.

It was then then that I noticed what it said on the t-shirt: Above a cartoon of a buxom woman exploding out of a bikini top and holding a frothy beer stein were the words, "Beer & Tits;" just below her bust it said, "Life is good!"

Shaking my head in disgust, I pulled it off, turned it inside out, and put it on again. I looked ridiculous, but I felt so much better covered up. The outfit would do until I could buy some better clothes.

Stomach growling, I packed up my things and put them in the car. I went back inside for one more check to make sure I wasn't leaving anything. I was cutting my stay here one night short, but I didn't want to come back. I was ready to go to the beach and be a normal person. I threw my key on the kitchen table and left ...

A week later, my adventures at the cabin were a distant memory. I had driven to the closest town and bought several cute, tasteful outfits, along with a new bra and some cotton bikini underwear. I altogether abandoned my practice of changing clothes in public places, as well as the disgusting idea of relieving myself in public places. In fact, I altogether abandoned any thought of it. I kept up with my grooming, shaving my legs and underarms, and keeping myself tidy between my legs. I felt feminine again; it felt incredible to have smooth legs and underarms again, and hair that felt like hair. I felt normal, decent, wholesome again. I became the nice girl I'd once been, with a determination never to allow that slutty girl to surface again.

I found a nice hotel a few blocks from the water -- the beachfront hotels were full. The first day I slept late and shopped during the early afternoon. I found a couple of cute bathing suits, a one-piece -- tastefully classic black -- and a solid purple string bikini that wasn't skimpy. I wore the one-piece late that afternoon, wearing a cute pale orange cover-up during the walk to my place in the sand.

And that's how my days and nights went -- I enjoyed the solitude, the long evening meals at sunset on the decks of family-oriented restaurants, taking drives during the heat of the day inland to poke around knick-knack shops in sleepy towns, usually sleeping late, with a late afternoon visit to the beach after the crowds had shrunk a bit. At night back in my room, I watched the Hallmark channel, and had some good cries at the happy endings. I even wrote a few postcards, one to my mother, to a few friends and an obligatory one to my boss.

Occasionally, my time at the cabin would flash through my mind, as well as my risky behavior at work, and I would feel the heat come to my face and I'd sigh sharply, ashamed. The Voice was almost silent -- occasionally, I could hear it ever so faintly, like a whisper carried by the wind. I would scold myself severely if I felt any temptation to hear what it was saying. Once, in a small town about 20 miles from the beach, when I was near the back of the store enjoying sampling the scents of several homemade soaps (I bought the one called "Wildflower"), I heard the whisper and paused to try to make out what it was saying. Dismayed, I scolded myself, out loud without realizing it. I'm not sure what I said, or how intelligible it was, but the store clerk came around the corner wanting to know if I'd asked for her.

By Thursday, I'd become a little bored with the short walk down to my spot among families and couples, so I decided to try another more secluded beach 17 miles down the coast. It was in a wildlife refuge, which sounded nice, and had easy access from a parking area by the main road. There were about ten cars when I arrived in the middle of the afternoon.

A long, wooden walkway traversed the dunes to the beach. The beach was narrow here, and backed by thick, green dune grass. The sand was speckled with seashells. Delighted, I turned south and walked for ten minutes, without going far because I stopped often to examine and collect shells.

I found a spot with a hundred yards between me and two couples on either side. I spread my towel on the sand and sat down, leaving my coverup on to protect me from the sun, which was quite warm. A gull swooped overhead, and other birds I couldn't identify ran in the sand, chasing the receding water, only to have to turn and run when the water revived its own courage to chase the bird. This was an absolutely delightful place, and I was sorry I hadn't tried it earlier in the week.

I spent two beautiful hours watching the waves and the birds. I even saw a school of dolphins arching through the water several hundred yards out. It was mostly sand in either direction, with the occasional umbrella interrupting the view. There were more parking areas all along this stretch of beach, but since most people preferred to be close to their hotels, the human population was relatively sparse, but there were just enough people that I felt safe to be a lone female.

The sun began to cool a bit, so I doffed my coverup. I was glad I'd worn my purple bikini, since the breeze felt good on my skin. I skipped happily down to the water and played in the surf until my muscles ached from treading water and struggling against the waves.

I collapsed on my towel, cheerfully exhausted, feeling the sun dry my skin. I sat up, knees against my chest, elbows on my knees, and drank in the scene. Life was good!

Looking south, far beyond the couple lying under an umbrella a hundred yards away, I saw a male form jogging up the beach on the hard, wet sand toward me. Watching for the next few minutes, I became mesmerized by how he looked almost as if his growing silhouette were floating through the waves of heat coming off the sand. Lost in a trance, I was startled back to my senses when I heard what I thought was an audible voice: "Lisa, you know you want to."

Confused, I grabbed my coverup and hugged it close to me as I stood, looking behind me, and all around. But there was no one. Bewildered, still hugging my coverup, I sat down. I started to scold myself, especially since I felt a twinge of arousal.

"Dammit, Lisa," I said, about to launch into a tirade against myself. I was interrupted, and this time, I knew it was the Voice.

"Take your top off now, Lisa," it commanded. I trembled, straining to resist, looking for resolve to disobey.

"Take it off now, Lisa. You know you want to," it commanded again. I felt hot all over, and every nerve in my body, both physical and emotional, agreed.

I hugged my knees to my chest and weakly pleaded with the Voice, "God, no, I mean, this is so wrong, please, please, please ..." Now I realized -- feeling the uninvited rush of emotional and physical pleasure -- that I was pleading with myself to obey the Voice.

I looked toward the runner. He was just beyond the couple and their umbrella. Still seated with my knees still up, I reached to the back of my neck and untied the string, and then behind my back and tugged that string. I felt my top loosen. I was breathing fast now. I spread my knees and sat crossed legged, and my top fell away. I brushed it aside. My nipples were very erect, and I felt the breeze across my bared breasts. Obeying the Voice, which barked still more orders, I did as I was told. Before the runner could see the details, but not until I was pretty sure he could see that I wasn't wearing a top, I drew my knees up to my chest again.

Even so, I felt very exposed. I pretended not to be watching him, but I could tell he was watching me. He slowed his pace as he neared. He was trying not to be obvious, but he was in spite of himself. I felt myself blushing, my chin down, as if staring at the sand. My heart was pounding. When he was even with me, he smiled nervously and waved. I pretended not to notice.

As he shrank into the distance, my heart continued to pound. Discreetly I began to finger my nipples. It felt as though I were electrified. Looking both directions, I saw only the umbrella couple to the south, and another couple farther to the north, so I laid on my back and continued to caress my breasts.

With each increasing wave of pleasure, I felt my my good-girl persona drowning, along with all of her deeply held convictions about morality and purity. I realized with a clarity that I'd never had before how much I loved sexual pleasure, and how little I liked my straight-laced self. Taking risks made me feel sexually vulnerable, and that for me was the mountaintop, to feel as if I had no control.

With that void of control came a flood of desire -- a desire to be viewed as an object of desire, to feel the lust that another would have for me, and to lust for them, to be made to behave in all sorts of ways that were contrary to my upbringing, and that were contrary to the morays of decent people.

"God, Lisa -- oh, fuck yes!" I said out loud. My tits were warm in my hands, and my nipples dark and hard and very sensitive. I looked toward the umbrella couple. They were oblivious to the ecstasy occurring so near to them.

"Take your bottoms off," the Voice commanded.

I sighed deeply, full of arousal. I untied the string on either hip. Bending my knees, I spread my legs, raised my butt off the towel and pulled the material out from under me. "Oh, fuck yes!" I said.

I laid there for a few minutes, letting my fingers lightly dance on my naked body. The thought that this was not a nude beach -- in fact I could get in a lot of very embarrassing trouble if I was reported or found by the beach patrol -- only increased my euphoria.

Looking toward the umbrella couple, the man seemed more attentive than before toward my direction. I knew he was too far away to see details, but he probably could tell I was naked. As I watched him, I gently slid a finger between my pussy lips. I was soaked.

Looking to the north, I could see the tiny silhouette of the runner on his return trip. I played with myself as I watched his form grow.

"This time show him your tits, Lisa," the Voice said. "Let him see that you're naked."

He was still a hundred yards away. I sat up, stretching my legs straight out in front of me, crossing one ankle over the other, and leaning back on my hands behind me. My breasts were on full display.

As he got closer, I became very anxious, of course. I'd never done anything like this before, so brazen. I was anxious of what might happen if he came in for a closer look, too -- I was glad for the other couple, and knew that this was the sort of safety net I would always need in the future.

But of course, this was all playing into my desire for vulnerability. I was fully aroused now. As he came close enough that I could admire his bare, muscled chest, I knew that he was admiring mine. He slowed to barely a jog, coming up the sand to the edge of the soft stuff, to be as close to me as he could when he passed. This time I didn't pretend not to see him.

The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering furiously ...

To be continued